Go Go Tales (2007)

I grew up in the ‘90s, and this movie made me feel like a kid again, but in the way a kid feels when he’s flipping through naughty movies late at night on his parents’ TV. You know, those movies with silly characterizations of “bad” people who eventually get their comeuppance, but at least they get a good sex scene or two. Kind of a loose remake of a movie that was already loose to begin with, Abel Ferrara’s undistributed 2007 film is like a comic, Altmanesque version of John Cassavetes’ Killing of a Chinese Bookie, replete with intermittently titillating striptease and a dedicated, overzealous owner (Willem Dafoe) looking to break even. Yet while that film ventures out of its crawlspace to test its protagonist’s devotion to his dream, Ferrara stays mostly indoors, providing a panoramic, sketchy, lovingly photographed view of the people who keep it running. The plot of the film, which hinges mostly on Dafoe trying to find his winning lottery ticket, is less important (or arresting) than the offbeat performances that Ferrara brings out of nearly all his actors, not to mention their asses. Asia Argento bitches out her fellow co-workers before strutting her stuff on stage and making out with a dog; Matthew Modine is a slightly effete womanizer whose villainy is undermined by his lust; and Ferrara indulges Bob Hoskins’ trademark throaty yell to hilarious effect. In one scene, a stripper’s husband discovers her true vocation, and Hoskins attempts to assuage him by replying that “it’s an art form, we do it clean here.” Maybe so, but nothing is ever too serious in this movie, and thinking about it in relation to Cassavetes’ masterpiece reminded me of Werner Herzog’s “remake” of Ferrara’s own Bad Lieutenant, which borrowed a few of that film’s basic themes and explored them more through comedy than tragedy. Dafoe’s performance in this film is similar to Nicolas Cage’s in wearing its wildly mixed emotions for all to see, culminating in a one-take monologue that alone makes the film worth seeing. Until that point he’s hard to take seriously, but is great fun to watch; he even sings an entire number, which the credits say Ferrara wrote. It’s possible Dafoe is a stand-in for Ferrara himself and his career-long dedication to the fringes of urban society. He’s made many flawed but fascinating films, at once gazing at NYC through a cheeky, empowering B-movie lens (Ms. 45), and going on to fashion his own gritty, idiosyncratic gangster saga (King of New York). The sleazy vibe that oozes through many of them is here at its most recognizable, but also its most celebratory; the fact that we hardly get to see New York isn’t an issue. These characters may not be deep, but at least they know what they want. No one else would make a movie like this today—at least not one with a big, booty-shaped heart at the center.

The Best Movies of 2009 (or rather, That I Saw In Theaters Last Year), Part 1

Note: I began writing this at the end of last year, but due to the craziness of modern life, and my own procrastination, it's taken me this long. And I'm not even finished. Still, I hate leaving written work unpublished, and this will hopefully give me the incentive to write as often as I used to on my own time. Making these year-end lists is a tradition for me, and I would hate to let a year slip by. More to come soon.

Here we are again, writing in my rarely-updated blog at the end of Oscar season, for a publication none other than my own. No more expletive-free school newspaper articles (fuck), since college has begun, quite wonderfully in fact, and so I have had less time for and access to movie theaters showing what 70 or so celluloid projections I’ve trekked out to see for the last several years. However, I’m not exactly bummed about that. Looking back over the past year, it seems like most of the really great movies came out in the first 6 months. What’s up with that? Why have movies (at least to me) kind of sucked lately?

Maybe “sucked” is a strong word; maybe “middling” is better. I remember towards the end of last year when I walked out of the mega-hyped James Cameron’s Avatar feeling underwhelmed. At first I thought that maybe I wasn’t sitting close enough to the center of the IMAX theater, so that Cameron’s imagery could really fuck with my sensory perception. Then I thought that perhaps my expectations were too high, that the movie ended up being less The New World than The Lost World. Yet finally I remembered what had struck me while watching the movie at the sold-out showing—the audience rarely, if ever, guffawed. Or tittered. Or shrieked. Or moaned. The movie, I realized, did not truly affect the emotions of the audience; rather, we merely donned our spectacles to gaze, to see these images fall in and out of depth, to watch what Cameron has been up to for 12 years. And it was pretty, and it was big. But we didn’t lose ourselves in it. This wasn’t watching the humble, heroic Frodo battle the huge freaky spider in order to reach his final destination—this was watching a bunch of blue people topple each other. What Avatar was missing is what makes great movies memorable—a thoroughly engaging story and interesting, complex characters. Without a hero we are interested in or a ring to get rid of, the freaky spider is just a freaky spider.

Now, listen: I hate it when people say, “Well, it wasn’t The Godfather or Citizen Kane...” No, it wasn’t, nor does it have to be. Film is such a versatile medium; it can be shaped by any number of personalities or methods of storytelling. It is also impossible to make a perfect movie. Personally, I think Rushmore comes close, but that’s probably because I’ve seen it 30 times and Wes Anderson’s talent for montage still profoundly, inexplicably affects me. There’s no accounting for taste. But people often ask me what kind of movies I like, and I always want to respond, “Ones with integrity.” That may sound incredibly vague and lame, but that’s almost always the first thing I look for, however abstract. There are movies I love where every scene, every note feels necessary, but there also are messy movies I love where the filmmakers and actors seem restless with life. If I can feel it, then the language doesn’t matter. French or Romanian, live-action or CGI, stop-motion or hand-drawn—it’s all the same on screen. It’s communication. It’s a conversation with a lover. You can bitch around and distract them, or you can give them what they want. Or you can do a little bit of both. Ok, I’ll shut up.

Note: These are in no particular order.

Betty Blue: The Director’s Cut

Like On The Road and Last Tango in Paris combined, Jean-Jacques Beiniex’s 1986 film, newly restored to its original 3-hour-plus running time, leisurely portrays the ups and downs of a highly destructive relationship, one marked by days of lusty rapture and nights of intoxicated kickbacks with only the best of friends. I’ve rarely seen a movie so inviting, so eager to let the viewer in on a good time, which may explain its reputation in France as a cult classic. It’s almost drunk with itself: the film features lush color schemes of blue and red, and the unforgettable score by Gabriel Yared, which transforms from haunting circus music into an elegiac piano ballad (the film’s centerpiece), reinventing itself again into a theme of lush, summery synths that could only have been written during the electro-pop craze of the 80s. This movie was made for romantics, and you will hopefully (as I did) forgive its bizarre and over-reaching third act as an act of desperate closure. A movie this beautifully transient doesn’t need a good ending.

The Secret of The Grain

I don’t know if this actually came out last year, but I don’t really care. It was supposed to come out December of ‘08, but some theater fucked up, and so I rushed out to see it in January when it played with little to no advertising for a week in LA. Needless to say, it has stayed with me since then. Like Fanny and Alexander (though not really like it at all), this is a family movie that is bursting at the seams. At the center, it is about a timid, poor man who wants to open a restaurant. Yet his extended family has a lot to say, and a lot to cook. This film is a journey; at two and a half hours, it begins as one thing and ends as something else. Scenes go on longer than you would expect. It all builds to a final act that is one of the most perfect endings I have seen in a movie. I think Criterion is releasing this eventually, so give this sprawling triumph a chance.

Two Lovers

James Gray is one of the few working directors who attempts to combine an economic sense of storytelling with a sensual, tone-conscious camera, and does it successfully. After 2007’s underrated, under-seen cop drama We Own The Night, Gray returned with his latest effort, which happens to be Joaquin Phoenix’s final screen role. And what a role it is, perhaps the most unsettling and ambiguous performance he’s ever done. Recalling the gritty, psychologically front-and-center New York films of the 70s, Two Lovers tells the story of a man-child forced to choose between the Jew and the shiksa. Of course, it isn’t that simple: the film mines the few extraordinary elements remaining in the familiar love-triangle setup, finding unpredictable ways of heightening tension between the characters. And still, half the fun of the movie is gauging exactly how these seemingly bizarre relationships are formed, making the viewer understand just how strong an ability human beings have, that of being able to endlessly rationalize fantasies within this disturbingly complex framework we call reality. Thematically and visually intact, but also completely accessible, this is the kind of movie you thought they didn’t make anymore. If not a modern classic, certainly a word to those privileged enough to make one.

Full review here: http://mgottlieb.blogspot.com/2009/08/two-lovers-2009.html

Humpday

The idea of a good friendship, and perhaps any relationship in general, is that you have someone who consistently challenges you in some way. This dialectic can come in many forms, such as through sex, a difference of opinion or habitude. The characters in Humpday all express this conflict in different ways, mostly out of their need to ensure the stability of their relationships, and perhaps prove it to themselves that they still have a bit of life in them. And you know what else? The movie is about two straight guys who, meeting each other after ten years, dare each other to make gay porn together. They do it because they can, and also because, deep inside, they need this challenge, which the movie ever so subtly reveals. Yes, it’s a comedy. Yes, it’s very funny. But it’s also the most emotionally true movie I saw this year. Shot mostly in close-up with unprofessional actors and an improvised script, the characters talk and emote like people you know, bringing out the human comedy of everyday in natural, infectious conversations. I felt so light after watching this movie because it felt like it was made for me. Director Lynn Shelton (a woman!) made a movie about guys being guys, that was also one of the year’s brilliant surprises.

Tetro

John Cassavetes, the grandfather of independent film, funded and distributed his own projects, simply because he knew he could make the movies he wanted to make. Francis Ford Coppola, maybe the most consistently brilliant director of the 1970s, has recently taken the same route after a comparatively lacking (yet prolific) run of studio films in the following decades. Now, after a 7-year hiatus of making movies, he has written, produced, directed and self-distributed his first original script in 30 years, resulting in what is probably the most glorified film yet made in digital video. Toned in black-and-white with occasional brilliant flashes of color, Francis Ford Coppola’s Tetro, blatantly auteurist as this opening title tells us, is an ode to the art of making movies, shamelessly artificial and acutely melodramatic. The most attractive virginal teenage boy you’ve ever seen (Alden Ehrenreich) comes to Buenos Aires to find his brother (Vincent Gallo, always the perfect asshole), and attempts to learn more about his family’s dark past. A play is discovered, numerous other plays are staged (including, memorably, a transvestite production of Faust) as the scenes reinvent themselves in flourishes of color and music. Coppola’s wide cinematography and loud, crackling sound design makes the film glisten. Whether the story is or isn’t autobiographical is up to you, but the time, money and love Coppola invested in this project is evident in every frame. If digital can look this good, then maybe we aren’t losing as much in the shift as we think.

In The Loop

It's often said that comedies are a tough sell because there’s nothing that everybody will find funny, but I think that the reason why most comedies are unmemorable is that there’s a lack of context. Judd Apatow’s films, as much as I love them, are filled with jokes so extraneous to their stories that they end up feeling like filmed improvisations, as if a joke in one movie could so easily have been thrown into the other with no difference. I think that Armando Iannucci realizes this, and his film In The Loop is ready to show you otherwise. Hilarious and tightly plotted from start to finish, the film plays like a mixture of The Office and Dr. Strangelove, a handheld-camera satire of the modern political spectrum in which egos run wild and insults are the weapon of choice. A war may or may not be on the horizon, and we see every hilarious detail of the process it takes for something “unforeseeable” to become...forseeable. Another great thing about the movie is that it assumes little knowledge of the real-world politics on part of the viewer, as long as they’re paying attention to the film’s chain of command, though I couldn’t see why you wouldn’t be: the film is perfectly cast, particularly Peter Capaldi as Malcolm Tucker, a lost Oscar nomination if ever there was one. You’ll want to quote him as soon as the movie’s over: “Don’t get too detached, or else that’s what I’ll do to your retinas.”

District 9 (2009)

Just as you've heard, Neill Blomkamp's "District 9" is something new, something possibly brilliant. For about 45 minutes. And then it reveals itself to be something like a lengthier retread of "28 Months Later" (has anyone seen that?), first utilizing a strong, chilling sci-fi concept to suck you in, then losing its character arcs somewhere along the line, and finally devolving into action that means absolutely nothing to people asking the bigger questions. Like me. I walked out of it more than a little exhausted. Probably because I saw the 10:55 showing, which included waiting in line for just under an hour beforehand, and literally 25 minutes of previews for every single zombie/vampire movie coming out until 2017. But also probably because for the last 45 minutes of the movie I found myself trying a little too hard to give a shit.

(Spoilers ahead.) I was a little frustrated with this movie mainly because it sets up this really interesting antihero, Wikus (Sharlto Copley), someone clearly very weak at his core, who has more than enough opportunities to shield that (a job with the government, a pretty wife whose father happens to his boss, a promotion from that same boss) but is suddenly thrown way out of his comfort zone into a situation almost impossible to solve peacefully. And on top of that, he's a complete asshole. The first 30 minutes or so of the movie consist of highly compelling documentary footage (strangely and sadly all but done away with in its second half), in which we see Wikus force aliens (known derogatorily as "prawns") out of their homes without a standard 24-hour eviction notice, insult their seemingly able intelligence to their faces, and literally stage the biggest abortion you've ever seen on screen. "Hear those pops? That's what's left of 'em burning up," he says to the camera. How can you NOT hate this guy? So I was waiting for him to get his comeuppance in some fashion, either grotesquely, or in a way that falls in line with the disorienting, mysterious, well-designed plot machinations of the film's first half. And for a while, the latter seems to be true, as disturbing scenes depicting Wikus' subjection to government experimentation makes "District 9" look something like a Nazi-themed remake of "Men In Black."

Soon enough, however, the movie becomes a quest for this asshole (who remains an asshole, or at least does nothing obvious to change that persona) to save his own ass, in ways that push past narrative plausibility and allow for a strange string of scenes that you've seen in many other movies but don't quite make sense for this particular character. For example, do we want to see him cry to his wife over the phone about wishing that things were different? How are we supposed to have sympathy for him after he tells an alien child that "we're not the fucking same"? By the time the movie kicked into "Iron Man"-esque action mode, with countless exploding bodies and reversals of fortune, I was a little confused. In not fully developing Wikus as a three-dimensional character, one with clear motives that we can understand and somewhat sympathize with despite his unshakable prejudices, director Blomkamp sacrifices what could have been a finale as chilling as his first act.

Which is not to say that "District 9" lacks qualities. In fact, this movie shows why spending hundreds of millions of dollars on a movie is unnecessary, given a lot of hard work. For a comparably small $30 million, Blomkamp, whose previous career was primarily as a special effects artist, creates a unique race of roach-like aliens with ambiguously sad faces that speak a crisp, eerily pleasant dialect of clicks and pops. Nothing in this movie is an eye- (or ear-) sore, even the hand-held camerawork, which fits with the documentary feel. An interesting aspect of the movie was the seeming lack of a language barrier between the human and alien species, which, if explored in a sequel, could lead to establishing some sort of new hybrid civilization. Though the last third of the movie doesn't really hint at progress in that regard.

Earlier this weekend I saw Hayao Miyazaki's wonderful new film, "Ponyo," which, as all his films do, reminded me just how important it is to find the human aspects of things we can't understand. More often than not, the things and people we define as "evil" are rooted in ignorance or misunderstanding. "District 9" very clearly sets up a situation that is chilling for its injustice, and gives us more than enough glimpses of global and psychological repercussions. Yet it loses itself in neglecting to bring its subversive protagonist down to earth.

Two Lovers (2009)

During the 1970s, there existed an era of American film unseen since the film noir movement of the 1940s. Gritty, introspective urban dramas like Taxi Driver and The Conversation explored deeply flawed male protagonists in degrading environments—which primarily existed in their minds more often than not—and we still look to those films today, whether to revel in the grainy, brooding imagery and rigorous camera work, or to hold a mirror up to ourselves and find out more than we thought we needed to know. In a way, these films depict what Holden Caulfield would have become had he remained in the city and never been put in an institution.

Which brings me to Two Lovers, arguably the first great film of 2009, and one that owes as much to those ‘70s films as it does to the talent and willingness of actor Joaquin Phoenix (in what is supposedly his last performance) to embody fragility, giving the most unsettling and ambiguous performance he’s ever done. Portraying Leonard, a Jewish man-child living in Brighton Beach with his positively French-Israeli parents, Phoenix brings his rugged handsomeness to a spontaneous, mumbling, fidgety demeanor, so weirdly endearing to every other character in the film that someone in the theater where I saw it cried out, “How the heck does he get so many women?”

Indeed, Two Lovers mines the few extraordinary elements remaining in the familiar love-triangle setup, finding unpredictable ways of heightening tension between the characters; yet half the fun of the movie is gauging exactly how these seemingly bizarre relationships are formed. It might not make sense at first that a guy like Leonard gets a pretty, old-fashioned Jewish girl (Vinessa Shaw) to fall head over heels for him (“I want to take care of you,” she says); or that he’s able to enter nearly every loophole possible when it comes to spending time with the adventurous neighboring shiksa (Gwyneth Paltrow)—indeed, superficially, the movie can be seen as what happens when a good Jewish boy goes too far. But this is a film that bends reality even as it lets it falls into place, making the viewer question the plausibility of these relationships just as Leonard is constantly and increasingly in danger of completely screwing them both up. To give away other subtleties would ruin the experience, but rest assured, the dichotomy promised by the title is raised to such high stakes that you will either be hissing in disapproval or purring from a rush of blood to the head.

Indeed, unlike most romantic dramas, Two Lovers isn’t afraid to be funny in all the wrong places, nor does it ever allow you to pick apart all of its secrets. We don’t know why Leonard suddenly breaks out into a painful hip-hop verse to impress some ladies (and why they love it), but clearly these characters have needs, and director James Gray uses incredible restraint in conveying this, as in his previous films (including the severely underrated We Own The Night).

Gray is the rare American director that makes lovely and subtle use of interiors to tell a deceptively simple story, which I believe is about the ability of human beings to endlessly rationalize fantasies within the disturbingly complex framework we call reality. He is clearly fascinated by the depths some men are willing to plumb in pursuit of an impossible dream, so much that the first scene of his movie even depicts the protagonist attempting to drown himself in the ocean. Indeed, the film is rife with provocative imagery, from an infectiously rapturous dance club sequence to close-ups of Leonard’s childhood photos during a heated sexual encounter. These scenes are what give the film a certain mystique, which carries it to the very end: without spoiling it, I can say that the last image of the film is something I won’t forget for quite some time.

If you want a film with a strangely compelling protagonist, where every frame is taken seriously, and consistently invites interpretation, you can rent Taxi Driver, or you can see Two Lovers. Hell, why not do both?

Top Ten Movies of 2008

In 2008, the quality of film as an art form dropped as steeply as America’s economy. For me, nearly all of the numerous “prestige pictures” that studios squeezed into theaters from October to December proved underwhelming, having failed to live up to their impeccably edited trailers and tremendous talent involved.

Pretensions to greatness are a common trap, as you can see every day in the lavish art gallery that is the Calendar section of the LA Times. Oscar-nominated Slumdog Millionaire is as photographically lavish, yet as cut-and-paste, as its poster, with characters so devoid of personality that you wonder why the protagonists’ names weren’t Lower Class #1 and #2. Indeed, many of the films this year disappointed in their lack of genuine human interest, a quality exploited through singular detachment in Steven Soderbergh’s compelling, flawed epic, Che. Films like Revolutionary Road misunderstood their layered source material, and felt like dated, archetypal exercises when they could have been nuanced and relevant.

Fortunately, a handful of excellent features dropped early in the year. As you probably know by now (or, at least, you should—go rent it), The Dark Knight was the rare blockbuster event that audiences could enjoy on multiple levels, a thrilling crime drama wonderfully invested in its themes, sustaining its momentum all the way through its positively overwhelming convoluted finish. Oddly enough, the movie wasn’t nominated for Best Picture, which shows how the Oscars are increasingly becoming a skewed and irrelevant celebration of cinematic zeitgeist. I’d rather see three more of those than a minute of another endless death knell like Benjamin Button.

However, at this time of year, I tend to ask myself, which movies did I see recently that I found truly fulfilling on a humanistic scale? Which films gave me a sense of discovery or meaning that stuck with me after I woke up the next morning? Which of the approximately 73 movies released in 2008 that I took the time to see reminded me why I love movies in the first place?

Here are 10 of them, most of which came and went in the first half of the year. And while I don’t think that any of these movies are perfect (what is?), I found each of them either deeply moving or resonant. Film, like all art forms, is subjective, but hopefully I can shed light on some lesser-known films that deserve your attention. I have chosen not to rank them, though I do have a particular favorite.

Dear Zachary

A raging torrent of a documentary, Kurt Kuenne’s aggressively edited testament to the murder of his childhood friend is a film best seen with little prior knowledge of its incendiary and heartbreaking story. Serving as a depiction of the universal facets of human injustice and beautiful goodness, Kuenne has crafted a feature that is clearly manipulative in structure, yet the footage culled from hundreds of hours of home movies is pieced together in consistently compelling and surprising ways.

Encounters at the End of the World

Werner Herzog, in his endless quest to document the most esoteric of human passions (see Grizzly Man), offers yet another endlessly thought-provoking documentary, an existential study of scientists and other workers in Antarctica, and the strange creatures they’ve studied for years. Herzog’s films always serve as both studies of quirky characters and juggernauts of unforgettably gorgeous imagery, and this film has its share of bizarrely introspective interviewees, as well as lengthy, transporting underwater sequences set to rousing choral music.

Happy-Go-Lucky

Mike Leigh (Secrets & Lies), one of the best directors of actors alive, has made yet another film with an utterly unique yet fully realized protagonist who whether you love or hate her, is impossible to forget. Sally Hawkins gives a full-bodied performance as Poppy, a relentless optimist who bounces from one situation to another with the same cheerful, infectious attitude; she shamefully wasn’t nominated for an Oscar. Interestingly, an irritable driving instructor serves as Poppy’s necessary pessimistic counterpoint, one of multiple introspective tests to her seemingly boundless ability to love. Leigh’s fascinating and poignant film truly shows the fruits of taking time to develop characters.

Let The Right One In

Without having seen Twilight, I’d say that this is the teenage vampire love story of the year. Yet even if that doesn’t interest you, this wondrous Swedish coming-of-age tale explores budding sexuality, childhood discovery and the importance of friendship in ways that transcend its sparse genre trappings. A sort of romantic Pan’s Labyrinth in snow, the film portrays a 12-year old boy living in chilly Stockholm who meets and befriends his new neighbor, Eli (the revelatory Lina Leandersson), an androgynous bloodsucker in hiding. Steeped in a meditative mysteriousness, this is one of the most unique and subtle films of its kind.

My Father, My Lord

An impassioned cry from first-time Israeli director David Volach (a former Haredi Jew), this excellent movie depicts a rabbi and his wife dealing with their young son’s insatiable curiosity, which threatens their fundamentally religious lifestyle. Using a low budget and non-professional actors, the film is quietly moving, with a subtle synth score, evocative cinematography and organic, internal performances. At 80 minutes, this is a short, swift indictment of religious nationalism, and a truly independent film.

Paranoid Park

My favorite film of the year, Gus Van Sant’s masterpiece views teenage life as an ongoing, epic morality play, a world where detachment and indifference seem to create the easiest path to indulge in our passions. And what passions they are, as Van Sant shoots what are surely the most phantasmagorical skateboarding sequences ever committed to film. The protagonist’s involvement in the accidental death of a security guard, which exposes the triviality of his various emotional investments, gives way to the most cinematic portrayal of teenage existentialism I’ve seen yet.

Rachel Getting Married

Jonathan Demme’s latest is an alternately rapturous and devastating depiction of a family’s attempts to make amends with the past, in anticipation of the titular act. Indeed, such humane gestures are reflected in Demme’s choice to represent a variety of ethnic backgrounds in the guests at the wedding, which not only culminates in a ravishing extended wedding sequence, but also serves as a subtle background to the acceptance that rehabilitated Kym (Anne Hathaway, in a breakthrough performance the Oscars managed not to ignore) yearns for. This camaraderie comes through in many inspired moments in the film, such as a spontaneous dishwasher-packing contest.

WALL-E

Pixar is the most successful movie studio in the world because of the sense of wonder and discovery that permeates their best films. WALL-E is a glorious return to the creativity I felt was lacking from their last few efforts, both in terms of character design and atmospheric resonance, and was one of the most joyous experiences I had in a theater this year. The film manages to be both a touching love story and a thrilling action movie, simply because of the way the story and characters are presented. Who knew that an animated female, machine-gun-wielding, egg-shaped robot could be sexy?

The Witnesses

Novel-like in structure, French filmmaker André Téchiné’s incredible story of illicit homosexual relationships before and after the strike of AIDS is filled with fascinating moral conflicts and brilliantly three-dimensional characters. Most movies don’t have this amount of intrigue and focus in telling a multi-faceted story. The subject matter itself is not explicit, but is essential to conveying the fear of death and the tumultuous consequences that the epidemic had on the lives of ordinary citizens.

The Wrestler

It’s rare that an exhausted story can be done in an original way, yet from beginning to end, Darren Aronofsky’s restrained The Wrestler, a Rocky-esque story of redemption, is impeccable in style, effort and presentation. It is a film that addresses the nature of performance art, while the actors themselves give impeccable performances. There are so many scenes that would feel contrived in lesser hands, yet are poignant because of Aronofsky’s camera, capturing evocative details and facial expressions, and, moreso, Mickey Rourke’s much-talked-about (and thankfully Oscar-nominated) performance.

Burn After Reading (2008)

“I guess that's the way the whole durned human comedy keeps perpetuatin' itself,” says a character at the end of Joel and Ethan Coen’s cult classic The Big Lebowski; in a way, one could argue that that is the idea the Coen brothers have been milking throughout their celebrated 24-year career. In films like Fargo, Raising Arizona, and, yes, even No Country For Old Men, the seminal auteurs depict characters that get trapped in horribly mucky situations, often due to a bad moral choice, or just plain stupidity.

Their newest film, Burn After Reading, explores those same themes, with especially stupid characters. However, it never really comes together, simply because, while every character—whether it’s Frances McDormand’s man-hungry, liposuction-eager gym employee, or John Malkovich’s profanity-spewing alcoholic ex-CIA agent—has its own quirky motives (“I’m writing my memoirs,” purrs Malkovich), they really do feel like hyphenated screenplay throwaways, somehow existing in the same movie and crossing paths at some point, for no reason other than to make the audience laugh. Unfortunately, the movie isn’t especially funny, though it does have its moments; but generally, the viewer never really fully understands, or cares, about what is going on.

The Coens love playing with genre conventions, and while Burn After Reading is their take on an espionage thriller, it has none of the moral conflicts that go with the best entries in the genre. The characters just do and say until the proverbial wheel (if it can be traced) comes full circle. The story goes something like this: Malkovich’s character gets fired, a disc with classified information on it is somehow left at the gym where McDormand and Brad Pitt (in an intermittently amusing, expectedly bright performance) work. Malkovich’s wife is sleeping with George Clooney, a paranoid ex-cop who somehow starts sleeping with McDormand, who by that point has already caused trouble by attempting to blackmail Malkovich. Violence occurs, nothing occurs. There is no tension or feeling for any of the characters. And rather than having a Lebowski-esque profound statement at the end, to explain what it all means, we get shrugged shoulders: “Whatever it was, let’s make sure it doesn’t happen again.” Joel and Ethan, please, follow your own advice.

Though it does have its moments of inspired dialogue and the wonderfully bizarre, Burn After Reading is a scattershot effort, an empty prototype of a movie the Coen brothers have done so well before, and probably don’t need to do again. Perhaps they’re letting off some steam after the dank nihilism of No Country for Old Men. There are two similarities, however, between this and last year’s Oscar winner: neither film gives us a clear exit; and while the earlier film leaves us pondering the meaning of its title, this film is as easy to forget as its title demands. I guess the true human comedy is that nobody—even the great artists—is perfect.

The Wackness (2008)

Writer-director Jonathan Levine’s The Wackness, the story of a Jewish 18-year-old drug dealer finding summer love on the streets of New York City in 1994, is not nearly as interesting as it sounds. Rather, it is the latest in a string of half-baked Sundance favorites, having nabbed the Audience Award at the festival, but playing like a mishmash of original and unfinished ideas.

The protagonist, Luke Shapiro (Josh Peck), has just graduated from high school, and is on his way to gaining thousands of dollars selling marijuana. His swagger and his vernacular—which includes words like “dope” and “fly”—reflect his love of hip-hop culture, yet he is far from a stereotypical gangsta. Rather than being swarmed by the opposite sex or any sort of posse, Luke sits at home playing his NES and not much else. This is somewhat unrealistic, considering how much money Luke ostensibly has, and the number of characters to whom he deals drugs, but still he comes off as naive and weirdly inexperienced. Does he really not have any friends? How did he get into drug dealing in the first place? Do his parents care? The film never answers these questions, and unfortunately for Peck’s fine performance, it’s hard to fully sympathize with his character.

We might suspect that he’d be somewhat unsatisfied, which he is, in that he can’t seem to nab the object of his affections, Stephanie (Olivia Thirlby). She happens to be the stepdaughter of one of Luke’s clients, who is also his psychiatrist, Dr. Squires (Ben Kingsley in an inexplicably weird performance). With his awkward New York accent and haphazard behavior, it’s hard to know what to make of him, and it seems that Levine didn’t know exactly what he wanted to direct.

But Luke’s relationship with Dr. Squires gives the movie what humor and message it has. To paraphrase one of the more memorable lines of the film, Squires tells Luke: “A man has to do whatever he has to in order to become the man he has to be.” This simple, powerful mantra drives Luke through the rest of the film, which goes mostly the way you’d expect, save for a warm, open-ended conclusion that evokes just how important it is to have new experiences.

As solid indies go, Juno this isn’t, even though it has several wonderful things in common with the Oscar-nominated film. The aforementioned vernacular of the characters, though it isn’t used by all of them, provides for an endearing urban aesthetic and quotable dialogue. The soundtrack is a sampling of East Coast hip-hop in its prime, with classics by Nas, A Tribe Called Quest, and the Notorious B.I.G. making the cut. Music is an integral part of teenage life, and the film emphasizes this in the best of ways.

At best, The Wackness is a time capsule for 1994 -- a time where Rudy Giuliani’s influence on New York City hadn’t fully made itself known, kids were cooling off on rooftop couches and Illmatic was an album that everyone had to own. But I have a message for up-and-coming indie filmmakers: nostalgia is a wonderful thing, indeed, but try to give us something new to remember.

Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull (2008)

When is a sequel a good thing? This question ran through my head all throughout watching Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull, a film that consistently boggles the mind with the fact that it actually exists. Did I really just sit through another Indiana Jones adventure? Because for the record, I really can’t remember much of it at all.

Steven Spielberg and George Lucas, as any average filmgoer knows, can do whatever they want. The duo has had their fingers on the pulse of Hollywood for the last 30 years, and they have provided us with many timeless pictures that, in turn, have grossed billions of dollars. Since Jurassic Park and Return of the Jedi, however, Spielberg has been expanding his horizons in one way or another (Munich, Catch Me If You Can), while Lucas went a far murkier route: he gave us an unnecessary extension, of sorts, to the original Star Wars trilogy, making three digitized prequels that, while entertaining, ultimately carried none of the magic that made the original films shine to this day.

The new Indiana Jones film is similar in how it attempts to play on the nostalgia of the audience, but it ultimately never rivets or resonates. It’s not exactly a bad film, but it’s certainly the worst of the series, in part because it spends too long on the storyline, which is arguably the films’ weakest aspect, and here it stands out more than ever. The script—apparently the reason why the film took so long to make—is missing many of the memorable one-liners and rapid-fire conversations that heightened the pace of the previous films. We never really care about what’s going on, because so much of the plot is inanely exposed through conversation, rather than actually happen in front of our eyes. In the meantime, we’re hoping for at least one overblown action sequence to take us away. It comes, and it does, but by that point the film has spread mud on the welcome mat.

And by overblown action sequences, I mean the legendary 10-15 minute long opening and closing sequences that defined the original trilogy, which, aside from a magnificent jungle chase scene—in which Mutt (Shia LaBeouf), and not Indy, steals the spotlight—are depicted sparingly here.

The entire point of Raiders of the Lost Ark was to recreate the Saturday matinee adventure films that Lucas and Spielberg grew up with. Those movies were never about anything other than having fun, with a keen sense of intrigue and discovery. The trilogy paid mostly excellent homage to that, with gloriously built setpieces and riveting music by John Williams. The unfairly maligned Temple of Doom played as a deliciously campy extended action sequence, and Last Crusade offered some great character interactions between Jones and his father, played by Sean Connery. The acting was never the important part of the films, but rather the dialogue, and the way it was strung together into the action. Watching those films today, it’s understandable why they were so popular, and they seem to exist in a time and place entirely apart from the CGI-infused superhero pictures we see today.

Crystal Skull hardly ever invites us into its world as its predecessors did, partly because it’s all so fake-looking. Rather than focusing on the natural settings that in the past had greatly added to Indy’s vulnerability, many of the backdrops look green-screened, or the scenes have an oddly dusty, grainy sheen that has characterized many of Spielberg’s films since Saving Private Ryan. A humorous scene in which Jones stumbles into a suburb-as-nuclear-testing-site is so distractingly colorful, it makes the 1950’s and the 1930’s look like different centuries. You might argue that the point of that scene is to poke fun at how happy and “safe” people felt during that decade, but to watch Indy run through that kind of environment just doesn’t feel right. In that sense, the film doesn’t fit into the series stylistically, because it’s too good-looking to try to pretend to be a B-movie.

It also inexplicably misses the chance to develop what Spielberg has already proven he does best: aliens. I may not have expected a Close Encounters of the Third Kind conclusion, but I felt like shouting at the screen when the film ends without any sort of unprecedented encounter or revelation. Rather, we get a lot of broken stone neatly thrown across the screen, and not much is really resolved. And we’re still left scratching our heads as to whose side Mac (Ray Winstone) is on, since he seems to change his mind every 20 minutes.

Perhaps the real problem with this film is that Spielberg seems bored with the material. What compelled him to make this movie? If it was really out of a wish to continue the series, he could have developed real conflict and excitement from within, and given Indy a chance to truly get beaten down and risen up as he does in all the previous films. There’s no problem with Ford’s performance, really; he seems fit and able-bodied, or at least the movie makes him appear to be. But it seems like Spielberg thinks that the audience just wants to see Indy in the costume, and not in another major, life-threatening situation. He’s not actively pursuing the kingdom of the Crystal Skull; he’s just walking towards it, and manages to bump into a few familiar friends and situations along the way. Spielberg should be creating new magic, rather than expecting the audience to already have it. There’s a difference between making a great movie and making an occasionally interesting reel of images.

“Knowledge was their pleasure,” Jones says of the extraterrestrials we don’t ever really get to know, and perhaps knowing only three Indiana Jones films would have been pleasure enough.

Grade: C

Short Takes: 21 (2008), Notorious (1946), Night and the City (1950)

"21" is an enjoyable, if morally vapid and overlong mainstream movie that has a decent soundtrack. You have your attractive leads, occasional product placement, some dozen double-crosses in the last 20 minutes,the obligatory sex scene, and the
hey-he's-fat-and-getting-paid-so-let's-take-advantage-of-the-humor scene (I've never seen someone munch on Twinkies so quickly), not to mention that the character in question looks like he could be Jonah Hill's twin brother. It's a movie that tries not to offend as much as it tries to entertain. This is the first movie I've seen in theaters in about a month or so, and it was generally satisfying.

Grade: B-



"Notorious" is further proof that Hitchcock was one of the greatest masters of the cinematic language, and always played against audience expectations--notably, in this case, making a spy movie without guns. The cinematography is at times breathtaking (the crane shot from the ceiling to Ingrid Bergman's hand is incredible). But the true high points of the film, what make it a must-see in my opinion, are the prolonged love scenes between Ingrid Bergman and Cary Grant. Two of the most attractive leads ever, Hitchcock seriously lingers on these two for minutes at a time, to the point of catharsis. It's the type of escapism that is hardly talked about, but is just as effective as a gunfight in a John Woo movie. We want to be in love like these characters, and Hitchcock's close-ups take us there. A great film.

Grade: A



Richard Widmark’s face seems almost perfectly suited for the camera. His naturally boyish grin effortlessly sinks into a grimace of desperation. He can go from suave to hopeless in seconds. Because of this, he is at once unforgettable as he is riveting to watch. And since his death several weeks ago, I’m sure that many avid film buffs, as well as I, have been going back and experiencing some of his films. But "Night and the City," directed by the underappreciated Jules Dassin--who died within a week after Widmark--is not just a great Widmark or Dassin film. It's one of the best examples of the use of cinematic language to tell a story that I've seen in a long time. It sparkles and shines in ways that most movies don't. Part of that is in the way the characters play off each other, and how we know only as much as we need to know about each person. The movie feels perfectly realized; almost every shot feels like it couldn't have been done any other way. It also has what is probably the best wrestling scene ever shot, a five-minute brawl out of nowhere between two ugly professionals (supporting characters) that surprisingly changes the tone of the movie completely, its outcome adding a layer of humanism that takes the protagonist further towards his inevitably bitter end. A great noir.

Grade: A

The Wild Bunch (1969)

"The Wild Bunch" is a sick movie, in every sense of the word. Its infamous shootouts are worthy of their reputation; and it's about as fun, masculine, greasy, brutal, and fucked-up a movie you're likely to see. The question is whether all that makes it a great movie, and to be honest, I'm not quite so sure myself.

From what Westerns I've seen thus far (and I'd say around 6 to 8), nearly all of them feature at least one protagonist that, regardless of being likable or not, can't help but intrigue us in how their moral compass plays out. In "The Searchers," John Wayne's character was a sick bastard, but he was a believable bastard, a guy that made you think about how guys like him really do exist. And that's what I love about Westerns, and why the genre might become one of my favorites--that sense of the grandeur of the environment that surrounds these characters that have to make decisions people still make today. That all might be a little vague, but my point is that I never made that association with any of the guys in "The Wild Bunch," even though that honestly didn't occur to me until about 3/4 of the way through the movie, when things started to drag a little, and maybe a few too many stereotypical Mexicans ("ehh, gringooos") were laughing into the camera. It occured to me that I didn't really know why things were going on, or who the hell William Holden is, or anything about the characters aside from the fact that they're gun-carrying outlaws who love beer-drenched Mexican whores.

Okay, maybe I'm not being honest with myself here. Maybe "The Wild Bunch" did kick ass. Maybe that slow-motion footage of a guy falling off a building being intercut with Ernest Borgnine throwing some grenades into a crowd of Mexicans is total brilliance. Maybe the entire point of the movie is that men are scum, but hell, let's have our fun anyhow, and go out blasting. "The Wild Bunch" is hell, but it's hell that could have been 20 minutes shorter, and could have used some distinguishable characters. It's some kind of great Western, has some sort of crazy subtext that I might get on a rewatch, but who knows--maybe I'm not sadistic enough to love it more.

Grade: B/B+

Top Ten Movies of 2007

If there was one trend in movies in 2007, it was an onslaught of unhappy endings. The majority of the films in my top ten are tragedies, films that portrayed the immoral desires of men, and how they and others around them face the consequences. One took place in a godless world; another drained the color out of life and let its protagonist try to breathe. One was a stark epic about wasted time; another was about the horrifying sacrifices that come with friendship.

So why watch these films in the first place? Because each is a life-affirming, stimulating work of art. They remind us that there are different kinds of life out there, characters that may or may not really exist, but nevertheless have stories that need to be told. To be a critic, you need to have your own sense of morals, and each of these films challenged my own perceptions and ideas of what a movie should be. They were transformative experiences that educated me, had me racking my mind and heart for deeper meanings. They are movies that have discrete stylistic qualities and narrative techniques that pay homage to older films, yet by experimenting with the art form, they successfully keep the medium fresh and alive.

Out of the 61 movies I saw in theaters this year, these are my favorites.

10. Control

Joy Division, probably my favorite band of all time, gets a biopic better than I could have hoped for. Music video director Anton Corbijn’s feature-length debut is a loving, intimate, perfectly realized biopic of frontman Ian Curtis, based on his wife’s memoirs, that not only does justice to the band’s music, but also makes you forget you’re watching actors in the first place. Sam Riley’s fiercely handsome face makes a perfect Curtis, and his portrayal of Curtis’ internal struggle with infidelity never fails to be interesting. Riley especially amazes when acting out Curtis’ near-epileptic stage performances. The black-and-white cinematography and musical cues are nearly perfect, and knowing the outcome of the story doesn’t lessen the experience.

9. We Own The Night

One of the most underrated movies of the year, James Gray’s third movie in 12 years is such a restrained crime drama that it almost takes you off-guard. A late-80s tale of New York cop family ties, Joaquin Phoenix and Mark Wahlberg play two brothers on both sides of the law, each one’s loyalty tested when their paths cross. Without any big-budget explosions or gunfights, calling it underwhelming is to ignore the fascinating character arcs, arguably some of the strongest uses of sibling-rivalry archetypes. From the rapturous opening club sequence to a car chase shown entirely from a first-person perspective, the movie is a highly sensory experience, and anyone who expects another Departed will be missing the point.

8. No Country For Old Men

Joel and Ethan Coen have been such consistently great filmmakers over the last 20 years that their last couple of misfires were easily forgiven. Here they bring their entire career full circle, creating a tremendous suspense film that echoes the nihilistic themes of their debut Blood Simple, while also containing such trademarks as memorable dialogue and crisp cinematography from Roger Deakins. Javier Bardem, in a career-defining performance, and Josh Brolin play a cat-and-mouse chase through a landscape of diegetic sound and breakable motels, while Tommy Lee Jones provides elliptical bookends for a tale that could only exist in a world where morality is just a passing fad.

7. The Host

Every year there comes a foreign film that should serve as a wake-up call to America that certain kinds of movies can still be successful. In this case, it’s the monster movie, which comes in no better shape or form than Joon-ho Bong’s effort, which is the highest-grossing film ever in South Korea, and deservedly so. A giant fish-monster (one of the few recent convincing CGI-rendered creatures) attacks Korea, and sends the entire country into a frenzy, heavily stemming from the government to instill fear into its citizens. The film is so successful because, aside from being as entertaining as any summer movie, it really makes you care about the characters, and its surprising moments of humor and pathos make it into something more than just a horror movie.

6. The King of Kong: A Fistful of Quarters

The most entertaining movie of the year is also the best documentary of the year, which says something about the integrity of popcorn filmmakers these days. (Did I mention that this is already getting a Hollywood remake?) The true story of the rivalry between the egotistical maniac who held the record for the highest score in Donkey Kong for 20 years and the humble underdog who challenged his legacy is the best movie ever made about videogames; a movie with more plot twists and oddball characters than you could fictionalize. Even if you don’t like videogames, it’s impossible for anyone not to enjoy this movie. And the best part, even after the last-minute overwhelming twist, is that the story isn’t over. Sequel, anybody?

5. 4 Months, 3 Weeks, and 2 Days

The scariest movie of the year is also the most true-to-life. The winner of this year’s Palm D’Or at the Cannes Film Festival, this Romanian film follows a woman trying to secure an illegal abortion for her roommate in the late 1980s, told through long camera takes and natural sounds. Like the sound of a speeding car in the distance—a subtle motif throughout the film—you’re constantly alarmed and worried about their safety, even when the main character is stuck at dinner with her boyfriend’s family in a claustrophobically framed, nearly five-minute take. Yet the film ends up being about a more fundamental theme: the instability of friendship. You wonder, after sitting through two hours of nervewracking tension and frustration, whether you would have taken the same risk.

4. Before The Devil Knows You’re Dead

Director Sidney Lumet, at 84 years old, is beyond trying to make a name for himself. 12 Angry Men and Network remain compulsively watchable moral tales, and I feel that his latest, a tragedy involving two brothers who attempt to rob a jewelry store, will eventually join the ranks of those films as an overwhelming testament to the wrong thing to do. Indeed, this movie is all about the casualties of immorality, and who better to play the lead than Philip Seymour Hoffman, an actor who continues to give his all, always fascinating to watch, and yells up a storm to our delight. Ethan Hawke gives a fittingly submissive performance, while Marisa Tomei and Albert Finney fill out the rest of an incredible ensemble. If you want great, unfettered drama, this is your ticket.

3. There Will Be Blood

I’d be lying if I said this wasn’t my most anticipated movie of the year, and I’d also be lying if I said it was exactly what I expected. Paul Thomas Anderson, who hasn’t made anything less than stellar yet in his career, brings us a sweeping indictment of American ideals with hardly any sentimentality, set to a freaky, remarkable strings-and-percussion score by Jonny Greenwood. His weapon of choice, Daniel Day-Lewis, as fiery and mustachioed as ever, is the cinematic equivalent to a train wreck—scary as hell, but you just can’t look away. In the most talked about performance of the year, he embodies an oil prospector who hates people, particularly a young preacher (Paul Dano) that stands in his way. These are single-minded characters that are as far apart in beliefs as they are in Anderson’s frame, and like all opposing forces, must eventually clash. And by the time the YouTube-bound ending comes around, it’s obvious that this is a caliber of filmmaking rarely displayed and essential to preserve.

2. Zodiac

David Fincher, like Stanley Kubrick before him, is a notoriously meticulous director, and with that, he has made his longest, most involving movie yet, a cinematic case study to the nth degree. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such an obsessive film. The story of the 30-year case on the Zodiac killer and the policeman, reporter, and political cartoonist that gave a good chunk of their lives working on it, Fincher directs tried-and-true actors Mark Ruffalo, Jake Gyllenhaal, and Robert Downey Jr., whose characters combine enough enthusiasm and skepticism to sustain the movie to its overwhelmingly protracted finish. Because the film seems to leave absolutely no details out, it doubles as a historical document, one that is as entertaining as it is informative.

1. The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford

It’s funny how, after all these excellent movies made by veterans, my favorite was from a relatively unknown director, and mostly shunned by critics for reasons I can’t comprehend. Andrew Dominik, obviously a highly visionary filmmaker, brings us one of the most indulgent, achingly cinematic, heartbreaking, and beautiful movies of the decade. It’s as if he knew he just had to make the movie of all movies, an ode to fiction and artificiality, and the consequences of making them a reality. The power of the film lies in the cinematography by Roger Deakins, the unforgettable score by Nick Cave and Warren Ellis, and in Casey Affleck’s chilling performance. From the opening shots of clouds passing by; to the melancholy, oft-repeated chimes of the xylophone; to the disarmingly sheepish grin on Affleck’s face as he holds his tattered hat—this movie has it all. In a year with several attempts at a revisionist western, this is the only one that takes complete control of its environment to bring out the emotions of its characters. And even though the title gives away the ending, you’ll still be on the edge of your seat when it happens. It’s long, but not long enough; and once that feeling is over, when the huge title is finally displayed on the screen, barely able to fit, you’ll know what to call it.

Safe (1995)

There's a famous story by Charlotte Perkins Gilman called "The Yellow Wallpaper" that I had to read for sophomore year in high school. It's about an unnamed woman who descends into madness after she spends months inside a room at home believing that she's severely depressed, and her husband, a doctor, seems oblivious to her feelings. She starts to obsess over the queasy yellow wallpaper in the room, whose swirling design seems to constantly change, and whose color rubs off on whoever touches it. Eventually, she sees what looks like a woman crawling on all fours behind bars, and in a bout of madness, rips the entire wallpaper off. Her husband comes in, faints, and she says, "I've got out at last."

Todd Haynes' "Safe" doesn't dare to let its protagonist, or audience, escape. In one scene, Carol (Julianne Moore), similarly "diseased" like the woman in "The Yellow Wallpaper," lies down next to her fellow camper at an environmentalist retreat, partners in one of many spiritual exercises. When asked to recount to her partner a room she remembers living in during childhood, she says: "There was yellow wallpaper..." and is interrupted by an ambulance, announcing the death of one of the inmates.

"Safe" is, more than anything else, a great and important L.A. movie. Not only does it display some of our most memorable highways and venues, but it digs deep into the core of how privileged, upper-middle-class Southern Californians feel all the time. Or in the late 1980's, at least. In a way, it's David Lynch's "Rabbits" segment of "Inland Empire" stretched out to a feature length film, complete with fuzzy, low-lit photography and detached high camera angles. It reaches a similar kind of realism as "Short Cuts" (also starring Moore), except Haynes takes into account the faux-religious (or, should I say, cultish) influences that lure these rich, unhappy people into believing that they have the cure. This movie is about Scientology and The Kaballah Center, but it's also about me.

There's a particularly funny scene where Moore's stepson reads out an essay at the dinner table: "In the 80's there are more gangs in the Los Angeles basin. Plus, many more stabbings and shootings by AK-47s, Uzis, and Mac 10s, killing numerous innocent people. L.A. was the gang capital of America. Rapes, riots, slashing throats...are all common in the black ghettos of L.A." "Why does it have to be so gory?" Carol asks. "Gory? That's how it really is! God," he replies. This is the whitest family you've ever seen, and watching Carol's bafflement is a hilarious display of her ignorance. Does Carol really have problems if those people have it so bad? Later on, the son asks how "uzi" is spelled. "Exactly the way it sounds," says his father (Xander Berkeley).

Carol impulsively gets her straight red hair permed, which, as we see later, is a result of her trying to fit in. There's a neat use of color coding throughout the film, such as when Carol is at a party with her friends, each of them wearing a distinctly different color of the rainbow, each of them permed to perfection. Later on in the film, while Carol watches a commerical on TV, we see color bars, and then the title card: "WHERE ARE YOU?" This is the turning point of the film, where Carol becomes convinced that she, like several others, suffers from "environmental illness."

But don't we all have environmental illness? Living in Los Angeles, where you feel like there are more cars than people, can be incredibly suffocating. I took a week-long trip to Arizona last year to visit friends, and I was amazed at the vast expanses of highways that are completely empty, aside from a car or three. It's almost a form of meditation, driving alone on the highway, in the DAYTIME, but my friends seemed to think nothing of it. It's funny how things look from different perspectives, which is another reason I watch movies, and why I found "Safe" both hilarious and terrifying.

In fact, I think I've even been to the place where the environmentalist camp was filmed, which made me feel even more uneasy. Religious retreats happen there all the time. Do you see how this movie is starting to creep into my life?!

Anyway, I'm rambling, but I think this is one of the best movies I've ever seen, one that anyone who has lived a good portion of their lives in L.A. should make essential viewing. There's a great line in the movie where the preacher of the environmentalist cult/thing says, "We need to give up the rage...and strive for a quiet light." I think it's road rage he's talking about, and in a movie filled with quiet light, I think I'm kind of worried.

Oh, and on a side note: Watching "Safe" reminds me of other movies, particularly Lynch's, which oddly works in its favor. Perhaps the opening credits of "Mulholland Dr." were borrowed from any of the highway sequences in this film, complete with a Badalamenti-esque synthesized score, and angled shots of the backs of cars. That doesn't make me love Lynch's film any less, but it's interesting to note that films about L.A. can have similar motifs.

Grade: A

I'm Not There (2007)

(Why is this a production still if it never happens in the movie?)

I enjoyed "I'm Not There," even if it got a little tiring. Bob Dylan is the most elusive figure in rock n' roll history, and any attempt to bring him to the screen will probably have you stumbling somehow. Director Todd Haynes tries to renovate this by splitting his life into six different characters (none of them named Bob Dylan), all played by different actors. What he comes up with is a movie that, through its kaleidoscopically dense narrative, manages to say absolutely nothing about Bob Dylan that you wouldn't know already, and will confound anybody with little more than a passing interest in the man and his myth. Because none of the characters have anything in common with each other, it leaves the audience with nothing to grasp onto, and ends exactly where it began.

But that was probably the point. "I'm Not There" is a fan's movie, a spot-the-reference field trip through loopholes of persona that never really seem to mesh or intertwine. But did you really expect them to? It's filled with impressive cinematography and memorable montages (all set to classic or bootleg Dylan's songs), and makes for a highly entertaining experience, but it's ultimately a hollow shell of a film. You can get more out of listening to an entire Dylan album than watching it.

The problem with assuming six different characters are all playing one person is that you can never feel for them directly. You're at a distance, because once you get a sense of how one character works, the film shifts to a completely different one. Again, perhaps that was the point, but how is the audience supposed to connect to the material? The montages are the best parts of the film because we hear the Dylan songs we know well and love, but what about the movie? What's the point? I also felt that the movie could easily have been a half hour shorter or longer if Haynes really wanted it to be. For a movie that pretty much runs around in its own world with little (if any) substance, adding or subtracting certain scenes wouldn't really make a difference.

It's hard to really talk about the movie specifically other than the performances, because it's so self-reflexive and glossy that there's nothing more to say about it once it's out of your system. Watching these actors attempt to embody Dylan is like watching actors try to embody Dylan. You laugh at Cate Blanchett because of how hard she tries to match Dylan's mannerisms, and how Christian Bale seems like a parody of Dylan, but they never really amount to more than that. It's hard to find the nuances in the characters, and you can't just fit them all together like pieces in a puzzle.

But if you're a fan of Bob Dylan, it's certainly worth seeing, if only that you'll have the illusion of being enlightened for 2 and a half hours. "I'm Not There" is a case where a director takes a pretentious concept and makes it watchable, if only for a select group of people, if only to further celebrate the myth of Bob Dylan, and if only because somebody had to try.

Grade: B-

Across The Universe (2007)

"You didn't get my left nipple right," Evan Rachel Wood says to Jim Sturgess, after a scene fashioned uncannily like the borderline R-rated nude scene in "Titanic". "Sorry. I drew it from a distance," he replies, and therein lies one of the many problems contained in Julie Taymor's 2007 musical "Across The Universe". It is a film that will most likely come and go without consequence--that is, unless it miraculously scores some Oscar nods and its teenage cult following to go with it.

One day, a musical called "Mamma Mia!" came to Broadway and started a trend of jukebox-musicals, shows in which a certain classic artist or group would have their music carefully arranged in a well-advertised production, all with stories we already know. Elvis Presley, Johnny Cash, and the Beach Boys all got that treatment. Is it any surprise that nearly all of those musicals, save for "Jersey Boys", either flopped or closed within weeks of their debut? People don't just want songs they already know; they want something else. But then again, "Mamma Mia" is still standing. There must be a reason why. (I know why--I've seen it, and it's oodles of fun.)

The Beatles are arguably the greatest band of all time, partly because they made, at times uncompromisingly experimental, eclectic, and resonating music that continue to shape millions (billions?) of lives. For that reason, it's amazing to think that there hasn't yet been a movie about the Beatles themselves. Or at least, not to my knowledge. Perhaps it's because it's too unwieldy a topic, or perhaps it's because two of them haven't died yet.

Regardless, "Across The Universe" is not the movie to rekindle your love for the Beatles, to start a new generation of Beatles-mania, nor will it be a movie to cherish for years to come. Instead, it's merely a cut-and-paste conversation piece that strangely has a lot of Beatles songs, a film with some nice visuals but almost no flair, and hardly any believable characterization. In fact, it contains some of the laziest mapping of characters I've seen in quite some time in a movie, and I found myself scratching my head every couple of minutes wondering what, and why, things were going on.

Perhaps the most intriguing number in the entire film comes early on. A tan-skinned (Asian?) cheerleader, with two black blemishes on her lips that are never explained, stands on a crowded football field. She begins to sing "I Want To Hold Your Hand," for no particular reason (this is basically how all the songs go). It's an incredibly slow, jarring verison, but we soon get used to it. Then we see her looking at a blonde-haired jock standing with his blonde-haired girlfriend. Hey, typical high school girl crush on the football star, right? But no. He walks away, and in a confusing moment, the two girls lock eyes with each other. The Asian girl turns her head. We realize by the next shot that she's presumably lesbian as she watches the blonde girl practice. "Oh please, say to me, you'll let me be your man," she sings, and I laugh. It's clever, at least I think it's supposed to be, and it's all the more emphasized by her walking along the field as the testosterone-fueled football players tackle each other all around her, letting her pass as they fly across the screen. That's what works for me as symbolism--she has no need for the opposite sex.

But perhaps I'm looking too deeply into it here. Perhaps she's not completely disowning the opposite sex, because the next time we see her, she's escaping from some guy's apartment into our protagonist's apartment through the bathroom window (Beatles reference--get it?). We don't see the guy, we just hear her talk about some guy she's escaping from. I'm guessing that the audience isn't expected to think about this as some sort of character inconsistency, but is instead supposed to laugh at how clever the Beatles reference is. We get it, it's funny, but it's not working. Why does this girl (named Prudence) have black blemishes on her lips? Why is she suddenly in love with Sadie, a prostitute/punk rocker/jungle-fever-girl a few scenes later? Why does she suddenly feel better about everything when "Dear Prudence" is sung? Why is this relevant to me and nobody else? And anyway, the movie treats Prudence's bisexuality too preciously to make any sort of real statement or impact.

The movie is filled with character inconsistencies like those, which ends up taking away anything it could have had if it tried. I wasn't able to invest myself in any of the characters, because I just didn't get why they were doing the things they did. The first time we hear Evan Rachel Wood say a sentence, it's about the narcissism of having children. Her apparent feelings of rebellion in that scene never come up again until much later in the film, past the point where it could have meant anything (try a random 10-minute departure from reality with Bono, who makes a cameo as Doctor Robert, a hippie who drives a bus presumably run by LSD, and exits the film as quickly as he entered). We also don't feel anything at her soldier boyfriend's funeral, even though the movie expects us to. Why not? Because we didn't know the guy. Why should we feel bad for him, or her, for that matter? And it's a motive that isn't really explored. She has very few doubts before she moves on to the next guy. No transition--just a song about her feelings, then cut to making out with him. Yay.

So, I mean, I don't really know what else to say--I could go on for hours about what was wrong with this movie. Most of the setpieces are boring, like a bowling alley that all of a sudden turns into something like a discotheque. Hardly any of the songs have context; the only scene that creates some sense of wonderment, aside from the gorgeous opening shot, is "Being For The Benefit Of Mr. Kite," set to easily the worst song in the entire film, yet manages to be a weirdly fascinating bout of kinetic, frenzied imagination. It's as random as anything else that happens in the movie, yet somehow, it works. Maybe Taymor should have made the movie more trippy, and less drippy.

I began this review with a quote that I was going to use to mention how pretty much nobody in this movie seems old enough to have lived in the 1960s. Well, I just said it, and there you go. I probably know less about the 1960's than these filmmakers, but it seems to me that they certainly had importance. "Across The Universe" does not.

Grade: C-

Henry Fool (1997)

Hal Hartley's "Henry Fool" is that great work of fiction, one that many people spend their whole lives trying to create. There are literary allusions abound; characters come, go, and return all over again in the most unusual or unexpected ways; and above all, it doesn't tell us anything more about its characters than we need to know. We enter their world, witness their sometimes bizarre actions, and learn to accept those actions, just as the characters themselves eventually accept each other.

It's also about the art of fiction; or rather, writing. I've heard someone say before that all stories follow the same essential pattern: a strange someone, or something, comes to a town or any place, and brings unprecedented change. As vague as that sounds, I couldn't help but think about that concept as the titular character (portrayed by the absolutely unforgettable Thomas Jay Ryan) walks down the street, carrying a briefcase and a cigarette plastered to his mouth, ready for action, in perhaps one of the most memorable character entrances of any movie. "Get up off your knees," he says to James Urbaniak, reflecting the entire film: every character will be taking a stand in some way, somehow.

As he moves into the Grim household, setting down his mysterious "confession" notebooks and searching the fridge for donuts, he gives the static, unassuming garbageman Simon Grim (Urbaniak) some witticism, a notebook, and a pencil, telling him to write whenever he feels like it. He does, and everyone who reads his writing elicits a variety of strong reactions. Parker Posey, who plays Simon's sister Fay, is her usual bitchy self, but this is one of her best roles, as she lets her Southern tinged voice to gain full power and plays a sexpot to great comedic heights.

The splendor of "Henry Fool" is the deadpan dialogue and the soaring musical score, even going so far as to work together: the piano chimes continuously add an extra punchline to Fool's hysterical, decidedly spoken intellectual ramblings. And when Fool wants to go to a club and party, the music lets him party, as he freaks with two strippers in a hilariously awkward, unexpected scene.

At times, the film seems too long, running about 2 hours and 20 minutes; but the final half hour makes it all worthwhile, bookending all the scenes beforehand and leaving the viewer with a comfortably ambiguous, much-debated ending. Anyone can have their own interpretation of this movie, and to point out any flaws with it is missing the point; it shows an alternate reality that can only exist in the realms of independent cinema. And undoubtedly one of the best.

Grade: A

Snatch. (2000)

You know how every once in a while there comes a movie that tries to mix style and substance and tries to make a big deal about it? That's probably a generalization, but I'm referring to such recent mainstream movies as "Smokin' Aces" and "Sin City," in which quirky characters and heavy dialogue are mixed with crazy camera techniques and cool soundtracks, usually to the delight of the young and young at heart worldwide. They've been called "MTV-style," "neo-noir," "video games",and "Tarantino-esque," among other things, but none of those actually explain what the movies are.

And the problem with that kind of movie is that recently, it hasn't worked. The story is almost always the first thing that's sacrificed, for the sake of some nifty imagery that never really sticks with you once you're done watching, or even if you are watching. (The primary exception to this is "GoodFellas," which is a movie that, over a decade later, manages to be just as entertaining, groundbreaking, and eye-orgasm inducing as when first released.) I can't say how many movies I've sat through, with or without friends, that I could describe as being utterly neutral to my emotions: it's there, I'm seeing it, but I just can't feel it at all. (Ahem, "300.")

Now, as for "Snatch"--it most definitely worked for me. In fact, it works so well that I'm amazed the directors of the aforementioned movies haven't taken its perceivable advice. It's hard for me to say why I liked it, but maybe I can suggest a few things.

For one thing, and perhaps the movie's most important success, is that the majority of the soundtrack cues in this movie are perfect. It's not often that a song and an image are so well edited that you really feel like a part of the scene, but this movie does it on a handful of occasions, notably in a few of Brad Pitt's scenes, where his mumbling gypsy-boxer is let loose to kick some ass. Pitt isn't particularly great in this movie; he doesn't do as much as you would expect him to, but he fits the part amiably, as do the rest of the cast.

It's nice to see Jason Statham not playing the badass action hero once again, even though he has his one particular scene...in fact, pretty much everyone in this movie has their one particular scene, but Dennis Farina and Alan Ford have perhaps the most ridiculous performances of all. "Snatch" is also a very funny film, in that its visual plot twists are well placed, and thankfully it doesn't get too loony for its own sake of plausible entertainment.

I'm typing this review late at night, and I better go to sleep, so I will say that unfortunately the movie ends too quickly, and by the end credits we realize that "Snatch" can only exist in its self-contained world, as fun and bloody and pointless as it really is. But all movies, good or bad, are in and of themselves, and knowing that they can be revisited more than once can be a reassuring thing. All the other guys can have their "300" and eat it too, but the rest of us will still have our "Snatch."

Grade: A-

Black Snake Moan (2007)

Craig Brewer's sophomore effort shoves its themes in your face in the first scene. First, there's black-and-white footage of a blues singer explaining how blues and love are intertwined. Then it blacks out, heavy blues starts to play, and it cuts to Justin Timberlake fucking the shit out of a startlingly bare-breasted Christina Ricci.

It's certainly one way to start a movie, and it's what I would expect from Brewer, one of today's most promising new directors, who began his first film (the excellent "Hustle and Flow") in just as eye-opening a way. But I did get the feeling that most of the audience already got what they came for.

If "Flow" was the ultimate hip-hop movie--deconstructing the craft while telling a convincing story of a pimp's rise to fame--then "Black Snake Moan" certainly doesn't live up to those standards. By no means is it a bad movie; it's just never clear on what sort of movie it wants to be. It's not an homage to 70's exploitation films, as the posters would lead you to believe; nor is it a sex romp with dirty Southern jokes. It's more of a pseudo-"born-again"-Christian-sex-anxiety-tale, yet with a heart. And if that makes absolutely no sense, then I don't know what else to tell you.

The original reason for me wanting to see this movie (as well as its primary selling point), aside from being a fan of "Hustle and Flow", was the concept: how the hell could they get away with making a movie about chaining a girl to a radiator? But that aspect of the story, when viewed as a part of the whole movie, is more of a comedic device, which, surprisingly, is thrown away more easily than it's brought in. The movie has a number of small plot holes--or, rather, character inconsistencies--that I don't feel are worth getting into. We already know that it's not a perfect movie--so let's talk about the acting.

Samuel L. Jackson probably enjoys his acting career more than anyone else his age, and he shows it. His breakthrough role in "Pulp Fiction" jumpstarted a cult following of crazy whiteboys (the ones who made that 30 seconds of "Snakes on a Plane" worth seeing), who are always searching for one of those classically delivered phrases, many of which he echoes here, such as "bad motherfucker". This role doesn't do anything new for him, apart from proving his worth as a blues singer.

Christina Ricci--probably the main reason to go out and see this movie, if anything. I always find it fascinating to see actresses play these types of roles, where either they lose their minds completely, or their clothes, and at the same time looking as dolled-up as possible. The fantastic opening credits sequence (another one of Brewer's talents), in which the camera lingers on Ricci's swaying hips in a jean miniskirt as she trots along the freeway, has a great "fuck authority" image that needs to be seen to be believed.

Another notable sequence is the supposedly "much-talked-about" trashing scene, which, if it has, I never heard anything about. Basically it consists of Samuel L. Jackson playing blues to a full crowd at the local bar, as Ricci bumps and grinds in slow-motion along the dance floor with numerous partners, her dirty-blonde hair stuck to the front of her sweaty, dirty face. It's almost scary to watch, since by this point (SPOILERS AHEAD) we would have assumed that Ricci was cleansed of her freaky nymphomaniac doings (another plot hole). (SPOILERS FINISHED) Apparently, this is different, yet it's ultimately the dirtiest, and most memorable, scene of the film.

One problem that a lot of people have had with Ricci in the past (and not that she tends to play white-trash roles--this time to the extreme, no less) is that she's always exposed her giant forehead, which gives her a strangely youthful look, her huge eyes and weird mouth popping out at you. Thankfully, "Black Snake Moan" fixes that problem, as her hair is almost always disheveled in front of her.

Justin Timberlake is woefully miscast as Ricci's boyfriend, an anxiety-ridden yet ultimately hopeful guy who enlists for the military. It's hard to watch a pop star/sex icon play a flawed character. His subplot is never believable, and his character never reaches a satisfying ending.

It's ultimately a testament to Brewer's craft that the best scenes in "Black Snake Moan" are the ones that play like the first, with blues and sex mixed to create some extremely provocative imagery--and ultimately, those two elements are what save the characters. But it's scenes like those that made me think of what the movie could have been, rather than what it already is. The majority of the humor comes from people cursing each other out, which is always fun, but that's not good enough, coming from a director who's already proved that he can put together something much more concise, resonating, and heartwarming.

But honestly, it's good enough, and as the first movie I've seen in 2007, it's just an inkling of things to come.

Grade: B-

49 Up (2005)

Life is short, yet slow and unpredictable. Who are we to judge if we've made a difference in the world, or to predict what might happen in the future? The people in "49 Up" have had to contemplate every 7 years the major decisions they've made in that period of time, evidently because director Michael Apted won't leave them alone. But there's a reason for that--and you would know it, emotionally, after watching this overwhelming 2 hour 15 minute segment.

"49 Up" may be the best documentary I've seen since "Hoop Dreams". The seventh chapter in a filmmaking experiment, originally conceptualized in 1964 as a British working-class study ("Give me a child at seven, and I will show you the man"), is very similar to the 1994 basketball saga, not to mention that Roger Ebert loves to endorse both, but in that both give you glimpses of lives and ambitions in motion. However, the difference is that this film goes one step further: it takes place long after the ambitions were fulfilled or denied, attempting to give enough closure for either result.

All but one of the protagonists are white, most living in a middle-class society, most divorced at least once. But all appear to be content with their lives, repeatedly stating that they are "happy"-- it's obvious that we're not seeing all of these people's lives, and some loose ends are left hanging. They're also somewhat irritated that they have to still be in these movies. Is it right for everyone to be able to see what these people are doing? Maybe not, but all for the sake of art.

One thing that stuck out in my mind while watching this was that there are never any questions or comments about religion (apart from the final protagonist, who discusses his preference for the older Testament over the New). You would think that religion could be a significant part of people's lives. Or maybe my Jewish upbringing puts those thoughts in my head.

Regardless, I haven't seen any of the previous segments, so this one felt like a giant load of character for me (it contains footage from all the others, so it's like a combination of each). But this works to an advantage, because we can see distinct parallels and differences in all of their lives, and, knowing that these aren't just characters on screen, but real people, allows us to contrast our lives, where we've been (if over or near 49) and where we may be going (if significantly under 49, like me), to these seemingly run-of-the-mill characters. They may not like it if we judge them--and nobody will ever blame them--but the rewards for moviegoers (not to mention humanity) are endless. Here's to "56 Up".

Grade: A